


Give It Time

by Saathi1013



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: First Time, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Third Person, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-11
Updated: 2007-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Saathi1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August 07 until March 08: eight months, eight brief snippets of the M3 household, and how it doesn’t happen.  And then it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give It Time

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write 12 kinda-drabbles, 150 words for each month, starting in August and updating after eps had come out for that month to go to the next. But as much as I love and support the writers, they killed that plan but good! So this is what I got, and I couldn’t not expand some of it. (Drabbles are hard! And smutty drabbles with plot contextualizing? Almost impossible.)

((August))

This is not how it happens.

They clean out the cab, because selling it will mean having more money to take care of Molly.  Matt doesn’t think about the safety-deposit box back in L.A. that holds a handful of diamonds, because there’s college to plan for, and any number of calamities on the horizon.

They accumulate a pile of interesting garbage and tarnished change.  Matt finds an empty condom wrapper in the backseat, cracks a joke that makes Mohinder blush, and if he’d bother to pry into it, he’d catch the number of months it’s been since Mohinder got laid, and who was his last.

If he had, they’d have had a couple of awkward stutter-stop snippets of conversation, and somehow, Matt would wind up on top of Mohinder in the backseat, trying to crawl under his skin.

But that’s not how it happens.  The change goes into Molly’s piggybank.

 

((September))

This is how it  _almost_  happens.

Mohinder thinks all about global warming when the air conditioner breaks.   Matt is already ornery, waking to thick, soupy air after an incredibly long shift that just.  wouldn’t.  end.   He snaps at Mohinder, and holes himself up in the bathroom.  He runs the coldest water he can stand through the tub’s tap and stands in the pooling water until he can’t feel his toes, too contrary and drained to actually take a shower.

Mohinder knocks hesitantly on the door after twenty minutes of aimless splashing, and Matt’s in a better mood, so he lets the other man in to share the wealth.  They sit on the edge of the tub, enjoying the welcome coolness, and Mohinder tells him in a low, contented voice about summers in India, where they ration water and the rivers aren’t fit to look at.

Matt almost starts a water fight, but stops himself when he notices that Mohinder’s thin undershirt is already soaked through with sweat.

 

((October))

This is where it begins.  Kind of.

Molly won’t wake up, and they are both paralyzed with worry, neither wanting to leave the cocoon of the apartment but both too agitated to sit still and think clearly.  They hover anxiously.  They pace in the living room, broad sweeping arcs that fan out from Molly’s open bedroom door.

When their paths intersect, they argue in short, staccato bursts.  They pick up random items from one side of the apartment only to let them drop elsewhere. 

Matt accidentally corners Mohinder at one point, and notices when the other man’s temper flips like a switch.  The realization sends an electric current down his spine.

He puts one hand on Mohinder’s shoulder and focuses.  Shakes his head at what he sees, even if it is tempting.

“Not now,” he says. “I mean, yes, later.  But.   _Later_.”

They argue instead, as if it never happened.

 

((November))

This is why it doesn’t happen yet. 

Molly is at home, recovering.  Matt is taking care of her, with a suppressed glow that says  _I did it, I saved her._   He sometimes seems surprised, but he carries himself differently, more confidently.

Mohinder is at the Company, working desperately to find a variation on his blood serum to save Niki, knowing that any day now, Bob is going to snap and just send him after the Bennets already.  He comes home more exhausted each night, more resigned.

Matt takes the Company-issued gun from Mohinder’s nerveless fingers one night, finding the other man staring at it blankly.  He strips it down efficiently, shows Mohinder how to load it, clean it, clear a jam.  He tells Mohinder the combination to the gun safe in the hall closet when Molly calls for a glass of water.

The next day, Bob gives him plane tickets.

 

((December))

It’s not very romantic.  It is, in fact, the  _exact_  opposite.

They attend the funeral in New Orleans, offer awkward condolences, and let Molly stay behind to sit underneath the piano bench with a quiet, lost-looking Micah.  Matt follows as Mohinder beats a hasty and vaguely panicked exit.

They’re back at the hotel by the time Matt sorts out the jumble of emotions clamoring inside the other man’s skull.  He manages to catch Mohinder by the arm when they get to their room, and the expression twisting his features is one Matt doesn’t want to see again,  _ever_.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Matt says, shaking him a little by the shoulders.  “It  _wasn’t_.”  Mohinder flails backwards, breaking free.

“How can you be sure-?”  Mohinder asks, incredulous, and Matt catches him again, corners him against the door and kisses him  _finally_  because he can’t find any words succinct and true enough.

Mohinder is needy and frenzied under Matt’s hands, and they find one of the twin beds by chance.  Everything is suddenly foreign and strange to Matt, but he strips them both down anyway and lets Mohinder take the lead.  It’s hurried, and desperate, and neither of them are really prepared.  When Mohinder begs, Matt realizes he  _wants_  it to hurt, and is too far gone to say no.

Their black suits are rumpled when they go to pick up Molly, and Matt only realizes he’s  _marked_ Mohinder when Molly wonders it they had a fight in her mind on the plane trip home.

 

((January))

Claire’s videos show up on YouTube the day of Nathan’s death, with a carefully-worded title and caption.   _This is Nathan Petrelli’s daughter,_ the white text on black says at the end _.  He could fly.  She can heal. They are not alone._

_He died because there are people who don’t want you to believe._

They are an instantaneous hit, played on all the news stations, and there is endless speculation.  The word ‘hoax’ keeps cropping up, but it doesn’t deter the buzz.  More videos are posted by the same, untraceable user.

Their jobs are suddenly more difficult, for opposing reasons, and Matt and Mohinder don’t have time each night to do much more than ensure that Molly is happy, healthy, and fed.   _Safe_. 

They certainly don’t talk about what happened in New Orleans, and it doesn’t happen again.  Matt feels used, and Mohinder believes that Matt thinks it was a mistake.

 

((February))

The furor had almost died down when some reporter found Chandra Suresh’s book.  Forced to choose between the Company’s ever-elusive agenda (with its certain funding), and the real opportunity to publicly validate his father’s name and work, Mohinder resigns. 

It’s not as tidy as it sounds; his Company-issued firearm plays a role, and he finds himself saying, “I’ve killed you once, I wonder if it gets easier the second time around.”

Matt and Molly just think he’s staying late at work until they see him on CNN.  He’s charming, poised, alarmingly well-shaven, and answers all the interviewer’s questions with enough intellect to convince, but not so much that he’s incomprehensible.  The words “Gabriel Gray” and “serial killer” make a brief appearance, and Matt wonders if that’s a good idea.

Mohinder comes home after Molly’s in bed, and Matt wants to yell at him, but the studio makeup makes him laugh helplessly, instead.

 

((March))

Matt accidentally reveals his powers at work.

He’s so infuriated by a smug, silent suspect during questioning he shouts, “ _Tell me the truth!_” without realizing he’s enforcing the command mentally.  The perp starts talking, clear back to his juvie days, and Matt’s partner simply stares for a long moment.

The rumor mill works fast, and his boss asks him for ‘ _a word_.’  It turns out to be several, and Matt, being the upstanding and basically honest guy he is, finally admits the truth.  Then he proves it.

“Huh,” his boss says, when he’s done.  He stares out the window for a long minute, and Matt stays out of his head, just in case.  “You gotta be careful, Parkman.  Don’t wanna get sued over the Fifth.”

And that’s it. 

He goes home early and celebrates by surprising Mohinder with a sloppy, jubilant kiss.  They end up sprawled across the couch, grinning like idiots while they fumble with clothing and make incredulous noises about wasted time.

They talk  _afterwards_. 

(That’s how it  _really_  starts)

*****

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story; I am updating my archive here for completion.


End file.
